Fun and Games

Apologies for horribly long absence while I caught up with other projects. It's been a mad couple of months, but at least I can now relax and enjoy my summer of travelling.

Travelling that wouldn't be happening if the UK passport office had had its way, that is. For the best part of the past ten years, I have been looking forward to renewing my passport and getting rid of the gawky photo of a confused 16 year old (vain, me?) Unfortunately, however, I haven't been looking forward quite keenly enough to have noticed that the midnight hour at last arrived this May. It was time to renew my passport with - ideally - a brand new, 'goodness me she must be a supermodel' photograph. Indeed, I didn't notice until the middle of June... just over a week before I was due to travel to Vancouver. Not a problem, no need to panic, as it turns out there is a (heart-stoppingly expensive) one day option available. One day? Nae bother - I had eight of them! So I happily made my appointment for 8.15am one morning at the London branch of the Passport Office, then spent, ooh, 10 minutes... or an hour... in a photo booth posing for a photograph (with plenty of make up and back-lighting) so flattering it didn't look the least bit like me.

8.15am rolls around and I cheerfully sign in, walk through the X ray machine, wait for 15 minutes then trot up to the desk when my number is called, brandishing my oh so bee-yoo-tiful. 'goodness-me-she-must-be-a-supermodel' photo with glee. It's rejected. And not, as you might think, because it's so bee-yoo-tiful that it doesn't look like me, but because I am flashing my pearly whites which, as it happens, is clearly and expressedly forbidden in the list of guidelines. I am given the opportunity to take another photo and wait in line for another appointment the same day, but as I haven't arranged to be late for work I decide to make another appointment for the following day. Nae bother! I still have six whole days to go!

Except that they don't have any appointments available for the following day, the next appointment is on Monday... my flight is on Thursday. That is just fine - one day service is one day service after all... right?

Monday morning goes like this:

7.55am Arrive at Kensington High St Station
8.05am First Circle Line arrives
8.20am Arrive at Passport Office, 5 minutes late. Guard shakes head, very perturbed at lateness. Lets me in. Thank him profusely.
8.45am Still waiting. Man at door says it might be another hour.
9.40am Called for appointment. They don't like my pictures - hair on forehead. But I have a fringe. They don't care. Need other pictures. Fine, I'll be back in a minute. No, I have to make an emergency appointment by waiting in long queue downstairs.
10.01am Given appointment for 10.15.
10.05am Waiting in queue to get new photos.
10.07am Machine breaks. Man tells us all to go to Victoria station for pictures. Will have to make another appointment on return.
10.10am Find machine at Victoria. Kid who speaks no English is guarding for someone else. Growl ferally at him, he gets the message.
10.11am Put £3.50 in machine. It asks for another pound. Don't have heart to argue. After £7.50, it takes a picture of me looking like an axe murderer. Emerge to half a dozen people who don't speak English shouting at me. Show them axe murderer picture and they shut up.
10.15am Get back in queue. Ahead of me, people leisurely think about their appointment times, take out diaries, have a good old chinwag.
10.23am Make it to front of queue. First appointment they have is at 11.45. That is about an hour from now, I am informed helpfully. I can't wait that long. I have to come back at 7am tomorrow morning.
Hours late for work: 1.5
Passports: none.
Status: Might cry.

7am Tuesday morning, I join the end of a (frighteningly long) queue. 8.40am we are informed that the printer is broken and no "casual walk ins" (casual?? Do I look casual to you???) will be getting passports today. Told to come back tomorrow.

6.20am Wednesday morning (26 hours before I have to check in for Vancouver flight) I join the queue, greet old friends from yesterday, settle down to wait. I am 17th in the queue. 7.45am, they open the doors. It's looking positive... but I am afraid to admit that out loud in case I jinx it all. A little while later, I am 15th in the queue... I glance at my watch... 23 hours until I have to check in... 14th in the queue... my heart starts beating a little faster. My buddy from yesterday morning (student, traveller, his passport was lost by the Kazakhstan Embassy) is given an appointment... I hardly dare hope... sweat breaks out on my palms... my scalp... some places I had no idea I had sweat glands... I am 6th... 5th... 4th... 3rd... 2nd... the man giving out emergency appointments goes on his break. I kid you not.

20 hours until I have to check in. I begin to do a little jig of impatience, then stop when I see the security man looking at me oddly - the last thing I need now is to be thrown out for insanity. The man comes back from his break. I am given an appointment.

Two hours later, I have a shiny, brand new passport. Featuring a picture of me looking like an axe murderer (hey, we'd all like to look like Charlize Theron - but in Monster?) Oh well - roll on 2016!